


The World Under Heaven, Here All Is Lent

by takadainmate



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-24
Updated: 2008-11-26
Packaged: 2020-12-17 16:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21057356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takadainmate/pseuds/takadainmate
Summary: Arthur/Merlin.  H/C. Arthur and Merlin survive.





	1. Chapter 1

It was raining.  
  
It was raining and there was thunder somewhere in the distance and the vague flash of lightening casting unnatural shadows amongst the trees, cutting across the dulled afternoon light.  
  
Merlin thought, _I'm going to drown on land at this rate_, and _How stupid is that?_ and wondered momentarily if Gaius would laugh or cry when they told him. Except, Merlin remembered, if he didn't return there wouldn't be anyone _to_ tell him. The guards were all dead. Merlin was sure of that. He'd seen their bodies, or what was left of them, strewn across the path for the past mile, or half a mile, or twenty miles, or however far he'd been running. He couldn't help them, and he wasn't sure there was any magic in the world that could, so he pressed on and tried not to think of them, of what they'd become, or of what manner of being could have done such a thing.  
  
The path veered to the right, turning to run parallel with the river. It flowed so much faster than him that Merlin wished he knew a spell to get his feet to match its pace. Its waters were swelled by the rain and threatened to flood over its banks. Merlin's boots splashed in the puddles and the mud, not keeping out any water at all as the path became a stream of its own, brown water rushing against him as the path began to incline. He slipped, cursed and righted himself, slowing down in case he fell and broke his neck and considering how the day had gone so far Merlin thought that a very real possibility.  
  
Earlier, hours ago, minutes ago, seconds before there had been cries and screams and the metal thud and clang of swords. Above the dull roar of falling rain Merlin could just about make out the sound of Arthur barking orders, then he tasted and smelt and felt in his very bones magic like he'd never felt before. It was so strong and so strange and unknown and so _foul_ it made Merlin think of rotten food and the strongest poisons and potions Gaius kept on the highest shelves in his chambers; the ones he thought Merlin didn't know about. And it made him think of death.  
  
Then there was silence.  
  
For a second, for a minute, for hours the forest was silent around him, as though taking a great breath before diving under water. He'd strained his ears, muttered a spell to hear as a fox does, but there was just _nothing_, and Merlin did not think about what that meant.  
  
Then sound had returned and the rain poured louder and harder than before, wind battered the trees and broke their branches and drove water into Merlin's eyes and clothes. And Merlin ran.  
  
Merlin ran, battling up a steep hill which he was sure had only been a gentle slope before the rain started. He knew he had to hurry, he knew he wasn't running fast enough, he knew this whole running towards danger thing was a new habit he really had to get out of. But at least he knew, with the same certainty he knew the sun would rise, that his mother loved him, that he really really _hated_ the rain, he knew that Arthur was alive.  
  
Arthur was breathing, even if Merlin couldn't hear him. Arthur was somewhere, somewhere near, and there was only mud and rain and weird magic that Merlin didn't like the feel of at all between them. Which, all things considered, was more encouraging than it sounded.  
  
In that moment or whatever when everything had gone still and quiet Merlin had thought, _Arthur is dead_. Then, nothing. Just a cold feeling heavy in his gut and the sour taste of _complete failure_ and _it's your fault_ in his mouth.  
  
And Merlin didn't ever want to feel that again.  
  
*  
  
Merlin bound the cloth tighter over the wound, muttering, "Oh yes, Merlin, it'll be a nice trip to the countryside. Get out of the palace. Get some air." Arthur grunted but didn't open his eyes. "You'll love it, Merlin! It'll be like going back to your peasant roots. Oh very funny, Arthur, yes you're a real jester. I think you missed your true calling."  
  
Wiping sticky hands on his soaked, muddy trousers, Merlin sat back on his heels and took a deep breath.  
  
"Okay," he told himself. "Okay. This is really not the time to go _actually_ insane."  
  
He closed his eyes, relieved the bad feeling had receded, even if it had only been replaced by a sort of stomach-wrenching worry and fear and very wobbly legs. Arthur was alive, more or less, and they were dry if not exactly safe. Dry_er_, in any case, tucked away in the hollow base of a rotting grand old oak.  
  
Outside, the rain still poured in torrents. It flooded the soft forest earth making the floor of their shelter a bit squishy, but it was better than nothing and was out of the wind, for which Merlin was grateful.  
  
That wind, as Merlin dragged and pulled at Arthur's semi-conscious body, had lashed and whipped around them like it was out to get them, making Merlin wonder if it was magical at all. It had whispered too. Whispered so many words that Merlin couldn't make out a thing it had said. Not that he was listening because talking gales were a bit too far-fetched and disturbing even for Merlin.  
  
So he had ignored it, just as he was ignoring the chill and discomfort of waterlogged fabric against skin and the rank smell of mould and rotting leaves and the constant dripping sound of water leaking into the hollow. He was tired and he was cold and he ached all over, but the blood flowing from the cut or gash or open gaping mortal injury, for all Merlin knew, on Arthur's thigh just wouldn't _stop_. Merlin resolved to pay more attention to Gaius when he attempted to school him in the arts of the physician from thereon. If he survived this. Because, his own health and the possibility of some evil magic thing way beyond what Merlin had ever come across before trying to kill them notwithstanding, Merlin didn't think the court would be too pleased if he returned to Camelot without its prince.  
  
Not that that was going to happen. Ever.  
  
He owed Arthur his life, and regardless of what some stupid crazy dragon said, Merlin didn't _really_ mind his life as the prince's servant. It could be almost fun at times. Times that, obviously, were not like this one; knee-deep in mud, sneezing with every other breath and so very _alone_.  
  
Merlin checked that Arthur was asleep or unconscious or whatever he was one last time before concentrating on the wound again. He tried to picture the wound closing in his mind, focused his eyes on the red-stained bandage he'd tied using his own scarf. When he felt nothing he lifted his hands, tried hovering them over the stain, tried moving aside the bloody fabric, wincing at the raw skin and thick, oozing blood, then placed his fingers gently on the wound itself, concentrating on sewing the flesh together. When that didn't work he tried door closing and object moving and mending shattered glass and finally he remembered how he used to annoy his mother by finishing her knitting for her when she turned her back, so he tried _that_. It made Arthur squirm and moan a bit so Merlin stopped, his eyes stinging from all the staring and concentrating and the not blinking. And it may have been his imagination or hope, or it may have been real, but the wound seemed smaller and not quite as eager to bleed as before.  
  
*  
  
"What happened?" Arthur said, his voice rough and breathy.  
  
"We were attacked, sire," Merlin replied, shuffling away from Arthur so there was room for him to sit up in the enclosed space.  
  
"I know that," Arthur ground out, pushing himself sort of sideways so that he could lean more or less upright against the wooden wall of the hollow. "I meant, how did we end up here?"  
  
"I dragged you in here," Merlin replied, trying not to sound too pleased with himself. "And stop moving around so much or that," he pointed to Arthur's leg, screwed his face up a bit for effect. "Will start bleeding again."  
  
"You dragged me," Arthur repeated, sounding decidedly unimpressed.  
  
"Well I can't exactly carry you," Merlin huffed, not having the energy to even get more than mildly annoyed at the lack of appreciation. Not that Arthur _ever_ appreciated him, so he folded his arms and added: "Don't appreciate the fact that I saved your life or anything, will you."  
  
Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin, frowning. "You saved my life? How?"  
  
"Okay," Merlin admitted after a moment of silence in which Arthur eyed him suspiciously and Merlin fidgeted. "I didn't exactly save your life. More like, prevented you from dying a horrible slow death from exposure and drowning and bleeding to death and probably getting eaten by large dangerous carnivorous forest animals too."  
  
Arthur snorted. "Why thank you, Merlin," he said, then sobered, looking out at the rain. "The others?" he asked. Merlin shook his head.  
  
"I don't know what could have killed them… like that," he said, looking away and doing his best not to remember.  
  
"We didn't see it," Arthur said, still staring at the rain. Merlin noticed, he looked pale and unwell and Merlin had no idea how they were ever going to make it back to Camelot in one piece. "Not really," Arthur was saying. "It was like a shadow, or a ghost; there and then just not there." Then he stopped, wrapped his arms around himself, and Merlin didn't ask.  
  
"Now you're awake I'll go and find some water," Merlin said instead, remembering that Gaius had once told him that water was good for people who had lost lots of blood.  
  
Arthur looked at him incredulously. "You'll find plenty outside," he said flatly.  
  
"You know what I mean. I dropped my pack somewhere." He unfolded himself from his corner of the hollow to crawl out, but Arthur stopped him with a hand on his arm.  
  
"I know it's hard for you, but don't be such an idiot. It's raining and you don't know where you're going and we have no idea what is out there," he said, his hand shaking slightly where he gripped at Merlin's soggy shirt.  
  
"I do know where I'm going and it's not far, I don't think this rain is _ever_ going to stop and I'm pretty sure that thing is gone," Merlin replied. He watched Arthur's face as he seemed to mull this over, conflicted about something. Then Arthur nodded to himself, frowning and said, "Then I'm coming too."  
  
"But," Merlin started, only for Arthur to grip his arm more tightly and speak over him, "I'm fine and you are not going out there on your own." Arthur had that annoying arrogant haughty look on his face he got when he was ordering people about so Merlin just shrugged, knowing there was no convincing Arthur to do anything when he got like that. "You could have thought to pick up my sword," he added, letting Merlin go so he could crawl out of the shelter.  
  
Merlin decided it best not to reply to that.  
  
*

The sky was such a thick, dull grey that there was no telling anymore what time of day it was or how long they had been stumbling along the path in an attempt to find their tools or their food, or maybe if they were really lucky, one of their horses. But the air was chilled and the ground was waterlogged and unstable beneath their feet and they did not find anything. Merlin didn't mention it, but he was sure they should have seen at least two of the soldier's bodies by now.  
  
Beside him, Arthur seemed out of breath, which was just weird considering it was usually Merlin who was panting for his life after intense physical exertion. But Arthur was still looking a very unattractive shade of sickly pale and favouring his uninjured leg heavily.  
  
"This is why," he ground out, "Peasants should not make the decisions."  
  
"I didn't ask you to come," Merlin pointed out, pulling his jacket tighter around himself, trying not to be too obvious about watching Arthur closely to make sure he didn't fall and do himself another injury.  
  
"You think I was going to let you wander around the forest with some... thing... on the loose on your own?" Arthur scoffed. "You wouldn't last five minutes."  
  
Merlin rolled his eyes, contemplated ignoring Arthur then thought, no, why should he; he was cold and tired and he'd dragged Arthur's royal heavy carcass halfway across the forest and sort-of fixed his leg and servant or not this was most definitely _not_ in his job description.  
  
"I seem to be doing better than _you_," he replied a bit more venomously than he meant to.  
  
"Ha!" Arthur laughed without any humour at all. "Says the idiot who got thrown by his horse at the first sign of trouble!"  
  
"It's not my fault the horse got scared!" Merlin shot back, frowning and wondering why he even bothered. "And thanks for making sure I was alive, by the way," he added moodily. "It wasn't exactly a goose-feather mattress I was thrown onto back there you know." Merlin pointed to his back. "I'm sure I've been bruised for life."  
  
"I didn't have time," Arthur retorted, sounding actually kind of irritated. It could just have been the incessant rain and the cold and the pain of his leg, which Arthur was trying to hide really very poorly, but the way Arthur was looking at him, glaring at him with an angry intensity Merlin had only seen Arthur use when he thought he was being insulted, made Merlin think that maybe Arthur was annoyed at the insinuation he didn't _care_.  
  
Arthur shook his head and wiped at the rainwater dripping down into his eyes. "I knew you were alright anyway," he said dismissively, not looking at Merlin. His eyes widened and he sped up, limping away from Merlin towards a slight embankment bordering one side of the path as though he'd noticed something. He shuffled up the incline, carefully placing his feet to keep his balance, and Merlin was just about to ask what on earth he thought he was trying to do when Arthur turned back to him with a grin and announced, "Hey, I found my sword."  
  
*  
  
"It's coming back," Merlin said.  
  
"What? Where?" Arthur said, turning around, peering into the shadows. "I can't see anything."  
  
"It's… Look. Trust me. It's coming back and we need to _move_," Merlin snapped back, pulling on Arthur's arm.  
  
"How do you know?" Arthur insisted. He was watching Merlin with something that looked very close to suspicion and _this was exactly why Merlin was never going to tell Arthur about his magic_. At least he wasn't resisting as Merlin tugged him along, back the way they had come.  
  
"I just know," Merlin said, trying very desperately to make that sound final and not at all suspect.  
  
Arthur frowned. "This is the wrong way," he said in his most pointed you-are-stupid voice. "We're supposed to be going _towards_ Camelot not _away_ from it."  
  
"The horrible murdering nasty thing is that way," Merlin said. "We are not going that way."  
  
Arthur snorted. "Horrible murdering nasty thing?"

"Yes," Merlin said, pulling Arthur along uncharitably fast. "The horrible thing that nastily murdered your guards and is now probably coming back to finish us off."

"If we go back that way," Arthur explained carefully, "We'll just be wasting our energy. We don't know how far it is to the next village and I don't have the map. We're better off heading back the way we came _like we decided five minutes ago_, then we know it's only two days at the most until we come across people." Arthur did stop walking then, pulling Merlin to a halt. "Merlin, listen to me," he paused, studying Merlin's face carefully. Merlin tried his very best not to fidget but they were standing still, and it was getting darker, and he could _feel_ that _thing_ getting closer and closer with every second and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his fingers and toes feel cold and numb. Although that could just have been the weather. "We have no supplies and no map and neither of us know these woods. We need to go the way we know. I know you're scared," he said slowly, and there was no way Merlin was going to let Arthur get away with that.  
  
"I am not scared," Merlin said, crossing his arms and scowling. Arthur just raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"No?"  
  
Merlin shifted, desperately wanting to move _away_ but having no clue how he could express the urgency of the situation without looking completely crazy or giving himself away as a sometimes sorcerer. And even if he did try the honesty route there was no guarantee that Arthur wouldn't just assume he was crazy or panicked or something anyway.  
  
"Maybe a little bit," he tried. "And so are you," he added, because he couldn't help himself. Arthur planted his hands on his hips, glaring in what Merlin supposed was meant to be menacing, but the dripping hair and pale skin and bags under the eyes made it look more like a slightly pathetic grimace. He looked as though he was about to say something too so Merlin said quickly, "I know we should go back, but you have to believe me that we shouldn't. I have really good... intuition about this kind of thing."  
  
Arthur looked away, shaking his head.  
  
"And as much as I'm sure your intuitive skills are renowned throughout the countryside, even if that evil thing is that way, we should still go." And with that he turned around and starting limping away.  
  
"Arthur," Merlin tried, hurrying to catch up, thinking, _This is the worst idea ever_ and _We're going to die_. _Horribly_.  
  
"I have my sword, remember?" Arthur called back over his shoulder.  
  
"Because that did you so much good last time," Merlin shot back, looking pointedly at his own scarf still wrapped around Arthur's leg.  
  
"It's just a scratch," Arthur said, straightening up in an attempt to not limp quite so much.  
  
Merlin rolled his eyes, because really, Arthur was such an idiot.  
  
Watching Arthur hobble stubbornly beside him, Merlin thought, _Maybe it is now_, but he remembered the way it had bled and bled over his hands, and the purple flesh around the wound that he couldn't quite bring himself to look at, and how Arthur had mumbled and squirmed and frowned in pain back in their tree-shelter. He didn't like to think what had done that; what had managed to best Camelot's most skilled knight.

As he followed Arthur, and all his instincts told him to run away and turn back and hide and hide and never come out, fine rain turning to thick sleet around them and night closing in, Merlin could not help but feel that he was soon to find out.  
  
*

Once upon a time there had been a great magician. He was young and tall and everyone said what a nice man he was and how kind and generous he was. He travelled the world, it was said, and as he passed through village after village he would heal the sick and he would bring the rains, he fixed houses and farm tools and for all of this he would ask for nothing and never took any payment. It was odd though, because once the great magician had left no one ever seemed to be able to remember his name.

Years later, the story went, in those villages the great magician had visited there would suddenly arrive a plague of misfortune. The sick would die and the rain would flood the crops, and great winds would come and rip the people's homes and farms and lives apart. Then the great magician would return, and he would be old and bitter and he would tell the villagers; "I have given you peace and wealth and you do not even remember my name."

The villagers would cry; "You are a curse! You have done this!" and they would kill him with fire or steel or rope or water. And once he was dead they would say; "All will be well again," and they were relieved.

But still the sick would die, and the rain would flood, and the winds would come, and still the villagers would blame the great magician. Never once did they consider that maybe they had brought disaster upon themselves.

*

"Your mother used to tell you that story when you were a child?" Arthur asked, his face screwed up in a very undignified look somewhere between awe and incredulity. Merlin frowned thoughtfully.

"I don't know why I thought of it." He shrugged. "It's a common tale."

"Cheery. You really managed to lighten the mood there," Arthur scoffed.

"Then _you_ tell a story," Merlin retorted, then held up a hand to forestall Arthur from saying anything. "And no more stories about you and your heroic and manly deeds."

Arthur scowled at Merlin. "They're great stories," he grumbled, pulling his thick cloak around himself. Merlin spared a moment's energy to be deeply jealous of the thick wool lining of Arthur's coat and determined to demand a pay rise when they got home so that he would be able to afford such warm clothing too.  
  
_Home_, he thought, and imagined he was in Gaius's chambers, helping him brew some foul-smelling potion. He thought of his bed, and how wonderful it would feel to _sleep_ and not to walk and walk, with frozen ground beneath your feet, the damp thin fabric of your shirt and jacket not keeping you from feeling even the lightest gust of wind. He thought of food and how much his stomach hurt from lack of it, and how warm it could be, and how it could drive away the sick feeling of imminent doom that made his feet feel heavy and every step harder than the last.  
  
Arthur stumbled on the uneven ground and cursed, his hand going to his thigh and his face drawn in pain.  
  
Merlin hated this. This lying and this uncertainty. It meant that he hadn't healed Arthur's wound fully for fear of losing his head, and now Arthur was suffering for it. It meant he couldn't tell Arthur just exactly why they shouldn't go this way. He thought about telling Arthur about his magic. About _everything_. He really did, because this was _wrong, wrong wrong_ and they shouldn't have gone this way, and if (when) they came face to face with the evil thing he would probably have to use magic anyway.  
  
"Arthur?" Merlin asked, wondering if begging would get Arthur to turn around, away, any other way but this one. Arthur seemed to bristle beneath his warm, luxurious coat.

"What?" he replied moodily, but there was little strength behind it and Merlin wondered if they would really be able to walk the two days to the nearest village at all.  
  
Merlin hesitated, decided to blame his increasing insanity on the cold and hunger and exhaustion, and asked, "Do you think all magic is evil?"  
  
Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin. "Why on earth do you ask that?" he said.  
  
Merlin shrugged, going for casual even though his insides felt like they were tied in knots and his heart beat so fast against his chest that Merlin thought he could hear his teeth rattling. "That thing is magic," he said.  
  
"Is it?" Arthur inclined his head, thinking.  
  
"I don't think anything else could have done," Merlin shook his head, shivered at the memory. "That." When Arthur looked at him questioningly, Merlin remembered that Arthur hadn't seen what had become of his guards. And he was about to say, "You saw the thing yourself didn't you?" and "You said it was like evil in human form", but suddenly his gut clenched and Merlin thought for a moment he was going to be _actually_ sick. All over Arthur's boots. Suddenly that dark dark feeling was there, worse than ever before, like it was inside his _head_ instead of lingering, somewhere in the distance, in the woods.  
  
Arthur started to say something, his mouth forming sound and his eyes, looking somewhere over Merlin's head, went wide with something that looked a lot like fear. He stopped, and Merlin watched as Arthur grit his teeth, then he grabbed Merlin's arm viciously, throwing him to the ground somewhere behind him.  
  
There was a sound like steel hitting stone as Merlin pulled himself back to his feet, trying to ignore the horrible feeling in his head and his body, like drowning, but slowly, disappearing into darkness and nothingness. And finally, and _finally_ he saw it, him, the evil thing; tall, dressed in dirtied rags, hair wild and black and skin as white as bleached linen like one of those powerful, malevolent wizards from an ancient fairy tale. Its eyes burnt black and blue, it looked at Merlin and smiled, and Merlin stepped back. Then those eyes turned back to Arthur and it didn't smile at all.  
  
Arthur elbowed Merlin back further, lifted his sword, tried to thrust forward but the evil thing easily dodged the attack. It barked out a noise that Merlin suspected was supposed to be a laugh, and Merlin realised then that it was _playing_ with them. It could kill them anytime it liked, Merlin _knew_ that. But it was enjoying itself, dancing around Arthur's assaults, lashing out at him but never getting too close.  
  
Merlin watched as Arthur drove forward again and again with his sword. He was breathing heavily, getting angry, and he was slower than Merlin had ever seen him. The cold and the exhaustion were slowing him down, and Merlin knew he had to help but couldn't think how without revealing his magic, and anyway, what could he do?  
  
The evil thing, and Merlin thought, _We really need to think of a better name for it_, batted Arthur's sword away with its _hand_, and there was that dull sound of stone against steel again. It stretched out its hand, fingers spread wide, and words began to form on its lips that Merlin didn't like the sound of at all.  
  
"We have to go, Arthur," Merlin said urgently, tugging at Arthur's sleeve. "We have to go, _now_." Arthur tensed, and Merlin could imagine exactly what he was going to say; "I don't run away," and, "I'm not a coward", and "I stand and fight." But Merlin knew, "This is not something you can fight. Not like this."  
  
Merlin took hold of Arthur's arm, feeling magic crackle through the air as the evil thing drew breath to form words, pulled desperately at him, and he had just about decided to use magic to _force_ his idiot master to move when Arthur turned to him, nodded briskly and let himself be drawn away.  
  
They ran.  
  
Not daring to look back, not daring to let go of Arthur in case he decided to change his stupid mind and go wave his sword at the darkness, Merlin ran as fast as he could go. His feet pounded over rocks and roots and at least he wasn't that cold anymore, but instead he felt dizzy and maybe a bit panicked because he was quite sure neither of them stood a chance against that thing.  
  
The ground was hard, then damp, then wet, and they slowed. Arthur was limping heavily and Merlin could see his breath in mists, short and shallow.  
  
"It's following," he panted, and Merlin nodded and was thankful that even completely oblivious princes could feel it now.  
  
It was coming, slowly but steadily, in no hurry to kill them but sure of itself and _gleeful_ besides.  
  
"We can't run forever," Arthur said, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "Actually, we can't run for much longer at all."  
  
It was raining heavily again, so that Arthur almost had to shout to be heard and really, if he looked half as bad as Arthur did Merlin thought that Arthur's much longer might sound a bit ambitious. Arthur looked about ready to drop, though Merlin knew he never would. And Merlin wouldn't let him.  
  
So it was decided then, he supposed. To save Arthur (and his own) life he would have to use magic and suffer whatever the consequences would be. It was just, now he had to think of something that would be useful.  
  
The evil thing's magic was strong, Merlin knew. Deep-seated and old and coated with rage and insanity and loneliness, bitterness, resentment, _hatred_. All these things and Merlin knew; this had once been a man. So he could be tricked and he could tire and he could be killed.

"We just have to outthink him," Merlin told Arthur, because he couldn't think what to do at all.

"Just?" Arthur snorted. And Merlin was almost worried, because a comment like that would normally have invited a whole slew of insults. _"I suspect we're going to die then, Merlin, if all we have are your brains to go on"_, Arthur should say, but he didn't.

Following Arthur deeper into the woods, further and further from the path, the trees grew closer, branches twined together and roots wrapped around each other making it hard work to move forward. Merlin thought, _Show us a way_, and then he imagined he could hear the branches draw back and the trees creakily move aside, and Arthur pushed through a wall of thick vines and branches that snagged their clothes and cut at their skin to see a narrow, clear path before them.

"Huh," he said and paused for a moment before pressing on along the narrow path. "An animal trail?"

Merlin murmured a non-committal reply, not quite believing he'd got away with that. But then, it wasn't like Arthur was at his sharpest.

Even with their way clear, they stumbled every few steps, tired and cold and finding it harder to focus. They found it easier to just lean on each other and Merlin was glad for the proximity; it meant Arthur was alive beside him, warm(ish) and determined even now. That surety and strength Merlin drew on, focused on it instead of that repugnant taste and smell of hate and malevolence.

It was quickly turning to night now too; dull sky shifting to the darkest of greys, and Merlin thought hopefully, _We need light, we need day_, but was not surprised when he was ignored and the shadows of twilight continued to draw longer across the forest.  
  
They were too tired to talk and too tired to think and almost fell into a fast-running river, swollen by the rains, when the forest and the path ended abruptly at its banks.

_Thanks_, Merlin though acerbically to whatever great power had deigned to lead them somewhere completely _useless_.

"Great," he said, and Arthur nodded his agreement, then pointed along the river's edge.

"After you," he gestured, and it was with something like relief that Merlin bowed slightly and began picking his way along the riverbank. If Arthur could still be a complete arse then at least they weren't dead yet.  
  
"So is it close?" he heard Arthur ask somewhere behind him. Merlin slipped, grabbed at the nearest branch he could to right himself.

"Oh," he said. "You trust my instincts _now_."

"They may have been proven not entirely unreliable," Arthur agreed, ignoring Merlin's scornful tone. Merlin slipped again; rain water running off the ground and through his boots and into the river and he couldn't feel his feet at _all_ anymore.

"He's close," he said. "Getting closer," was all he had energy for.

Then he heard, "You I don't need," deep, whispered words on the wind, and he knew, he hadn't been the one that had made that path.

The ground slid away from beneath his feet, his hands grasped at air. He thought he heard Arthur shout something, then there was water rushing in his ears. It wasn't until his vision was blurred and he felt the current against his skin and water in his lungs that Merlin realised he was underwater and he was _cold_. He kicked out, forced his arms to move, concentrated; _Swim, float, breathe underwater, do something that prevents drowning_ until he broke the surface, gasping and slapping at the water in the hopes that he might find purchase somewhere. He was floating, at least, rain and river splashing in his face. His body heavy and with every second he was losing control of his limbs, losing feeling all over.

And the last two things Merlin would never remember thinking were, _I hope Arthur is safe_. Then, _By all that ever lived, I wish it would just stop raining._  
  
And it did.  
  
*  
  
It was mostly cold and a bit painful when Merlin woke up, rather wishing he hadn't. It didn't help that the first thing he heard was Arthur shouting in his ear.  
  
"Merlin, you will wake up this second and you will not die! That is an _order_." He sounded so _angry_ that Merlin couldn't help laughing. Or at least, he tried to, but it turned into a hacking cough that felt like his lungs being ripped apart, clawed to pieces from the inside out. He reached out blindly, grabbed onto the first thing he found and held on until he could _breathe_ again.  
  
"You know, you're very close to strangling me," he heard Arthur say conversationally, his voice low but close. Merlin cautiously opened his eyes and realised he was sort of hanging onto Arthur's jacket collar. There wasn't much light but he could just about make out Arthur's face, close and unhappy, his eyes oddly bright in the gloom.  
  
"Uh," he said, and wondered at why his throat felt raw and his stomach felt heavy and it hurt to breathe. "What happened?" he tried to ask and was not a little bit disturbed to hear his own words slurred and stuttered.  
  
"You fell in the river, you idiot," Arthur replied, then he paused and leaned in closer to Merlin, his brow drawn in a frown. "You don't remember?"  
  
Merlin remembered: lots of water. Which, he supposed explained why his hair felt flat and drenched against his skin, dripping down his face and into his eyes. Also: he was so cold it hurt, and now that he thought about it he noticed he was shivering and he couldn't seem to convince any of his limbs to move. The muscles in his arms and legs and back felt bunched together, drawn tight like a tanner's skins stretched between poles. His fingers and toes felt as though the cold was burning into them, and Merlin wondered if this was what fire felt like against skin.  
  
"Remember..." he said, and grimaced at the way his teeth chattered together. "Didn't want to though." Arthur looked like he was torn between laughing and frowning even more, but instead he just shrugged, and Merlin was confused for a moment when he felt the movement himself. Then he realised, he was still hanging onto Arthur's jacket, and he was lying, half-curled up, in Arthur's lap.  
  
"What...?" Merlin tried to pull himself up, but only managed to slump even more closely against Arthur's chest. Arthur shifted his legs, his arms tightening around Merlin, drawing his cloak more snugly around him.  
  
"You were, and possibly still are, freezing to death," Arthur sniffed, looking away. And it really was as luxurious a coat as Merlin had imagined; soft and fluffy against his bare skin. "I don't know what else to do," Arthur was saying to the floor, looking decidedly put upon. "You were as cold as a dead fish when I dragged your sorry carcass out of the river. I thought you were dead."  
  
"At least," Merlin breathed, trying desperately to lighten the mood because it was just too weird to see Arthur like this; worried and unsure of himself and fidgeting uncomfortably and didn't he realise Merlin could _feel_ that? "You didn't bury me." He tried a smile. "Wouldn't have helped."

Arthur shook his head and said, "Of course I wouldn't do that."

He looked back at Merlin, eyes fierce, then looked away again at something in the distance. "I'm not a physician though," he said. "You have to tell me what I can do to make you better because we can't stay here forever and I'm not going to let you die."  
  
"Not a physician either." Merlin tried to move again, managed to get his legs to shift a bit and felt the soft wool under his legs, only then realising he wasn't actually wearing very much. And he would have been embarrassed or annoyed if he hadn't been intensely grateful that Arthur hadn't left him wearing his certainly ice-cold waterlogged clothes. "Clothes off is good," he said, trying to sound encouraging and not realising what he'd said until Arthur choked a laugh and looked at him with an amused grin and a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Not what I meant!" Merlin protested feebly, and _hated_ that he felt so weak he couldn't even argue back properly. "Gaius said."  
  
"That just makes it sound worse, you realise," Arthur laughed. Merlin chose to ignore him.  
  
"Need to get warm," he said instead and decided that he didn't care if he was cuddling against Arthur and trying to cuddle _closer_ because he was freezing and his stomach was roiling and his head hurt and he just wanted to go to sleep. So he closed his eyes and thought he would just rest for a minute, that he'd be fine after he'd rested for a bit, except then Arthur flicked his cheek and shook his shoulder roughly.  
  
"Oi. No going to sleep. It was enough trouble waking you up the first time round." Arthur's fingers pressed almost painfully into Merlin's shoulders. "Wake up!" he said again in his most annoyingly arrogant commanding voice. And Merlin almost went back to sleep just to spite him. "You said you need to get warm," Arthur was saying. "I guessed that much. Look, I'm even letting you," Arthur paused and Merlin could just imagine the pained look he would have on his face. "Close. I'm losing feeling in my legs. Not much more I can do about that." Then Arthur shook him again, demanding, "Merlin, will you wake up." He really wished Arthur would stop doing that because it made him feel a million times worse. And if he was sick all over Arthur then the idiot would _completely deserve it_.  
  
"Awake," Merlin groused because he got the feeling that Arthur was not going to stop harassing him anytime soon so he might as well give in. "Start a fire," Merlin suggested, thinking that if Arthur was distracted he might possibly be able to get some sleep.  
  
But Arthur said, "That's a terrible idea," and prodded at Merlin's neck with fingers that didn't feel much warmer than Merlin's own.  
  
"Is not," Merlin replied defensively.  
  
"Yes, it really is," Arthur said slowly. "I make a fire and that thing will know where we are." Merlin considered this, coming to the conclusion that he must be worse off than he had imagined because he hadn't even thought to ask where they were, how Arthur got away. He opened his eyes and shifted his head away from Arthur's chest to see stone walls beyond him. It struck him then that the floor was _dry_.  
  
"Where... are we?" he asked. "What happened?" feeling even more disoriented than he had when he'd first woken up. Unless this was all a horrible dream and he was still drowning, trapped beneath water or crushed by the fast-moving flow against rocks, and maybe he'd died and gone to _hell_. Hell, with a cuddly Arthur.  
  
"A cave I found." Arthur was peering down at Merlin curiously. "It was strange," he said. "One minute I thought I heard that thing, or maybe not so much heard as _felt_ it." Merlin felt Arthur shiver. "Then you were gone, and I saw you in the river, so I ran after you. And then it was as though that maniac disappeared too." Arthur shrugged. "We were lucky. _You_ were lucky."  
  
Arthur didn't explain anymore just looked up, towards the entrance of the cave Merlin supposed. It was dark, and Merlin wondered if Arthur could actually see much. The moon was bright at least, and Merlin could see its silvery half-light spread across the walls and Arthur's face and neck. He must have slept for a long time for it to be so far into the night and the moon so high. And there was no rain, just the rustle of the wind through the trees, the distant sound of the river, the chatter of insects.

"It stopped," Merlin said. "The rain." Arthur hummed agreement, but said nothing, so Merlin tried moving again, tried to get more comfortable because he was starting to be able to feel the cave's stony floor and his legs and back and arms were starting to ache. Arthur shifted with him, but continued to look away from it, his eyes narrowed, closely watching the shadows.  
  
"He's not close," Merlin told Arthur, because the tension and the uncertainty written all over Arthur's face was just too much. Arthur looked down at Merlin again.  
  
"Oh yes, I forgot. You _know_ about these things," he said dryly. Merlin fidgeted.  
  
It was still there, the knowledge of that thing's existence, somewhere deep in his head and Merlin wondered if it would ever go away. But it was not as strong as it had been before, like a wool blanket had been wrapped around his ears so that it wasn't so loud or intrusive anymore. Then Merlin realised with a start, that was _him_. He was doing that. This was his magic and he hadn't even noticed and how was he hiding them anyway because that would be a very handy spell to know?  
  
"What is it?" Arthur said, looking sort of concerned even though he sounded mostly annoyed. "What's wrong? Is it back?" He gripped Merlin tighter, his head snapping up to look outside as though he were expecting the evil thing to jump out at them from the entrance that very second.  
  
"No, no," Merlin said, his much-slower-than-usual brain desperately trying to think of some excuse. _Go with what you know best_, Gaius had always said (when he was trying to sound wise, but it was really a rather unfortunate thing to say to someone who knew _magic_ best).

So, "Cold." Which was not a lie in any case.  
  
"Hm," Arthur said, frowning. "That's my warmest cloak you're wrapped in there."  
  
"I's very nice," Merlin agreed and couldn't help rubbing his fingers against the wool lining. Arthur sighed and shifted about a bit.  
  
"If you tell anyone about this I'll have you killed," he said, then started rubbing at Merlin's arm not pressed against his own stomach.  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it," Merlin said, starting to feel a lot more normal and a lot warmer with Arthur's hands massaging down his hands, and then his back and then his _thigh_. "_Really_ wouldn't."  
  
"I'm only doing this because you look sort of blue-coloured," Arthur said.  
  
"I like blue." Merlin thought he heard Arthur huff a laugh.  
  
"Well it doesn't suit you at all."

"And red doesn't suit you," Merlin lied. "Guess I'll keep the cloak." He tried to burrow deeper into the material, quite sure he was feeling every bruise he had and every tired and pulled and abused muscle as he shifted about. Arthur stopped rubbing at his side, flicked his ear and said, "Stop fidgeting." He sighed, sounding as weary as Merlin felt.

"You should sleep," Merlin said. "We can't," he took a breath, was relieved when his lungs filled and his teeth almost stopped chattering. "Go anywhere in this dark."

"I don't know if you've noticed," Arthur hissed. "But neither of us is doing very well, and the longer we are out here the less chance of us surviving at all."

"If we go out now," Merlin replied, trying to sound reasonable. "We'll only trip and break our legs or something." He considered it very discouraging that Arthur didn't think he was in much better shape than Merlin. "And where are we going to go anyway? I doubt we can find the path in the dark." And even if Merlin could find the right incantation to find their way, he could still feel the magic of a spell he couldn't fathom and couldn't control but was still his own, drawing from him with every heartbeat. He didn't know: could he do two spells at the same time? Did he have the strength for that? If there was one thing he knew at that moment, apart from being quite sure that sleep was a very very good thing, he knew that without the spell hiding them they would not last long at all.

"I thought we could follow the river," Arthur shrugged. "It should lead us to a village sooner or later."

Merlin thought, _Aren't I the insane one?_ and studied Arthur's face carefully for signs of delirium.

"Don't look at me like that," Arthur snapped.  
  
"Sooner or later…" Merlin shook his head, feeling the material of Arthur's shirt against his cheek. "It could take days. Or," and Merlin paused, making sure that he had Arthur's full attention, because this was important, because they were not dying here, because they had a destiny to fulfil, lives to lead, mistakes to make, arguments to have. "The river could lead us somewhere _worse_. Like to a cave of monsters, or to nowhere, or to the _edge of the world_."

"I doubt we're capable of walking that far," Arthur replied wryly.

Merlin tried to sit up, annoyed, but succeeded only in tangling himself in Arthur's cloak and arms and legs and drawing a hiss of pain from Arthur. And it was only then he remembered;

"Your leg…" He tried to scramble off of Arthur's lap because, seriously, his weight on a slightly-less-than-gaping wound _had_ to hurt.

But Arthur held him tightly and said, "It's fine." He gripped Merlin tightly, almost painfully, again. "Keep still, then. We'll stay until dawn."

So Merlin relaxed, trying not to feel guilty about lying on Arthur's leg too much. He remembered: Arthur liked to regularly beat him up under the flimsy guise of weapons training, and Arthur liked to make him wear stupid clothes and do boring jobs like polishing his boots and his crown, and liked to order him to fetch and carry and Get this, Merlin, Get that, Merlin, Look, I'm so royal I don't even know how to undo my own trousers, Merlin. It really helped negate the guilt.

"Sleep," Merlin said, seeing that Arthur was looking out at the dark woods beyond the cave again, his eyes overly wide as though he were forcing them to stay open. "It won't come." Merlin grimaced. "Probably."

Then there was that look again; Arthur staring at him like he was a stranger he didn't quite believe he could trust. He seemed to come to a decision then.

"How do you know that?" Arthur asked.  
  
Merlin sighed, shaking his head. "I told you. Intuition." It was close enough to the truth anyway, but Arthur was looking put-upon and betrayed and _pouty_ and Merlin was, apparently, feeling suicidal. "Arthur, you don't want me to tell you," he said.  
  
Arthur looked at him for a long moment, staring into Merlin's eyes as though he could know the truth of everything just by looking long and hard enough. Which Merlin supposed he could, but he was tired and he wanted that vague dark feeling in his stomach that felt heavy and left a sour taste in his mouth to just go away. So if Arthur wanted to _ask_ then he wouldn't lie, and if Arthur wanted to kill him then fine. At least he wouldn't have to deal with the evil thing, or walk who-knew-how-far in the cold and the rain or snow or sudden and unseasonable storm that was sure to greet them the next morning. He would never again have to collect the underwear off the floor of Arthur's chambers. For that, Merlin might actually considering Arthur killing him a great mercy.  
  
He closed his eyes, waiting to see what Arthur would do, except he wasn't really because as soon as his eyes closed Merlin was asleep.  
  
*  
  
He dreamed of water. It was snow and it was rain, and then it was a river and then a stream running lazily over mountain tops, winding its way around great rocks and tiny pebbles, gently, slowly wearing away at the stone.

And then it was soup. Really nice, really warm soup.  
  
*

The rising winter sun burned red in the sky, the grey clouds of the previous day gone, now thin purple lines across an orange sky. The chilled air fresh, clean instead of thick and rotting and oppressive. Merlin imagined the sun warming him, drying the icy dampness from his clothes still heavy with rainfall and river water. He shuddered, remembered being shoved out of Arthur's warm cloak and forced back into them and swore that he would hate Arthur forever for doing that to him. He had to concede though, walking around naked did not appeal. The forest was still all sharp pointed branches and tangled undergrowth that made even the horror of putting his boots back on bearable. And Arthur _had_ let him keep the coat.

Merlin fought weariness and ignored the shivers that ran up his back and down his legs, muscles so tight it became hard to move, to walk through water-logged mud, to step over ancient roots grown thick and solid. He ignored the gnawing in his stomach and the unease that lingered in the back of his mind like a bad hangover that wouldn't let him forget; they were not safe, something more powerful than either of them still walked the woods and Merlin knew it meant to kill them.  
  
It should have been easy to forget in the light of day, Merlin thought, the despair and the desperation of the night, and Arthur seemed happy enough. But it was still there and Merlin found himself on edge, distracted, and cold in a way that no sun or fire could warm.  
  
"And _traps_," Arthur said, and Merlin remembered he was supposed to be listening. "It would be bad," Arthur was saying in his slightly unconvincing lecturing tone. "If you got your bare foot trapped in one of those..." Arthur trailed off and pulled his face into a very ignoble and exaggerated grimace. Merlin had absolutely no idea where he was finding the energy.  
  
"I get it," Merlin said, because Arthur was looking at him with that scrunched up face and lifted eyebrow and Merlin really wanted him to _stop_. "Boots are necessary for not getting bare flesh ripped to shreds by animal traps."  
  
"No need to get tetchy," Arthur sniffed, turning away and hacking with a little more force than was needed at some low branches in their path.  
  
"Well I put them on didn't I?" Merlin groused. "Even though they are cold and wet and falling to pieces because they were really not made for going swimming in."  
  
Arthur tilted his head. "They really didn't seem to be made for much of anything," he commented. "How can you stand to wear such flimsy things?"  
  
"It's not like I can afford new fancy ones," Merlin bristled. "And what were you doing looking at my boots anyway?"  
  
"They were kind of hard to not notice," Arthur replied slowly. "When I was _taking them off your feet_." He paused and gestured towards the river running along beside them as they picked their way along its bank. "Careful, it looks slippery here and I do not want to have to fish you out of the water again."  
  
Merlin ignored the comment and said, "Okay. Let us never speak of the undressing me thing ever again."  
  
Arthur laughed and looked back at Merlin again and this time his mouth was set in what looked to Merlin disturbingly like a leer.  
  
"Oh but Merlin, your cold corpse-like skin was just so _appealing_."  
  
Merlin actually stopped dead, clutching at a thin birch, and wondered if Arthur had been possessed. Or hit his head.  
  
"Are you possessed?" Merlin asked. "Or did you hit your head? Because that was very creepy, and now let's go back to talking about something else. Like hunting. You like hunting. We can talk about hunting."

Arthur shot him a grin then grabbed his arm. "Come on," he said. "We're making good progress."

Which Merlin thought was probably a lie because the trees grew densely even up to the water's edge, and any route between them was thick with vines and old roots as thick as the trunks and sharp, thorned thicket. It felt as though they had to fight for every inch, for every step. But there was nothing else to be done, so Merlin followed Arthur and pushed at the branches and thorn bushes and tangled undergrowth in his path and really wished he had gloves.

*

"They're spiky and kind of cute," Merlin explained. "And make really good pie. Without the spikes, obviously." The thought of food made his stomach growl and made him wonder if any of the berries or leaves or twigs were edible, but Arthur was smiling a bit and Merlin was actually starting to feel almost like they might actually survive this.  
  
"Obviously," Arthur repeated dryly. He hacked at a thicket in front of them, pulled at the branches to clear a path. "This would be a lot quicker if you had a knife or a sword or something too," Arthur commented. He took Merlin's arm and pulled him along behind him, through the newly cut path that scratched at them and tried to trip them. Still, Merlin trusted it more than if they had found a clearer path because he could _see_ Arthur make it.  
  
It was an odd feeling, like finding out there was evil magic, or that people lied, or that people died, but for the first time since he could remember Merlin did not trust his magic. He wondered if maybe it was the exhaustion or the cold or the hunger or the evil thing but he couldn't tell what he was doing and what he wasn't; couldn't feel it as clearly as he usually did. It was confusing and disorienting and it made Merlin nervous. So he talked.  
  
"You know I'm rubbish with a sword," Merlin said, and Arthur laughed and nodded.  
  
"I had noticed." He disappeared into a dense thicket, and Merlin stopped and waited.

"I'm not going that way!" he called after him, and Arthur shouted back. "Fine!" because even if he didn't quite trust his magic he still trusted his instincts and Arthur was starting to as well.

"Mushrooms," Merlin said, when he couldn't stand not being able to hear Arthur any more. "We can eat mushrooms." He knew mushrooms. He had collected them for his mother and for Gaius and sometimes for Arthur if he was feeling charitable and Arthur hadn't been a complete bastard to him for a while.

"They could be poisonous," Arthur remarked from somewhere ahead of him.

"I know what I'm doing," Merlin replied defensively. Because he did. "Do you take me for an idiot?"

Arthur appeared at his side. "I do, actually," he said, and before Merlin could muster the proper indignation for a response, Arthur said, "That way is flooded. River must have burst its banks. So then, O Wise One, which way now?"

Merlin thought for a moment. "We should try to go around," Merlin said, and pointed to his left. "That way."

"That way it is," Arthur agreed, taking the lead. "If we had time," he said, squeezing between two particularly close trees. "I would hunt."

Merlin scoffed. "Oh so _now_ you want to talk about hunting."

"There's rich hunting in this forest," Arthur said.  
  
"Who'd want to hunt somewhere they could be killed by a crazy evil thing?" Merlin argued, and Arthur frowned, helped pull Merlin between the trees without getting his long, thick coat snagged.  
  
"You know, I've never heard of anything like that in these woods before."

"That's because you're you." At Arthur's offended look Merlin waved his hand and went on, "Because you're the king's son. Not because you're stupid or anything." Which Merlin was not going to discuss with his supposed master for fear of losing his job and possible imprisonment.

"So?" Arthur prompted when Merlin didn't say anything more. "What have you heard?"

It was, Merlin supposed, relevant, if a little close to home. But the previous night he remembered more clearly than he would have liked and he had said some things and maybe Arthur had heard too much. Despite that though, Arthur had still _held_ him, let him _close_. And Arthur was still here, walking beside him, talking to him as though nothing had changed, letting him keep his cloak.

"One of the guards," Merlin said. "He told me that he'd heard there was some kind of hermit who lived in these woods." Merlin shrugged, didn't really want to say anymore because they had never talked about this kind of thing; about Uther's law. Merlin wasn't sure he wanted to know what Arthur would think.

"And?" Arthur prompted again, sounding slightly irritated. Arthur did not, Merlin reminded himself, attend the executions of those charged with witchcraft. He did not sneer at the very mention of magic as his father did. He listened to Gaius when he insisted magic was necessary to defeat magical beings. And they had a _destiny_, the dragon had said. They would be together for a long time, the dragon had laughed. Considering the life he led, Merlin knew it was only a matter of time before Arthur knew of his magic, if he didn't already. So, he decided, this was as good a time as any.

"He said the hermit had once been a local… sorcerer," Merlin said. "His wife had been burnt as a witch, and he went into hiding."

Arthur sighed and frowned.

"I sometimes wonder," he said softly, sounding decidedly uncomfortable. "If that law of my father's isn't more trouble than it's worth."

Merlin thought for a moment, wondering how much it had cost Arthur to say that, and at how much _trust_ Arthur was placing in Merlin by telling him that. Still, he was just a servant so who would believe _him_ anyway?

"I wouldn't know," he replied.

*


	2. Chapter 2

"Can't you…" Arthur trailed off, _growled_, gripped Merlin's shoulders tightly. "_Merlin_. Would you just _stop_." Merlin looked up at Arthur, shaking his head.

"No, I can't," he said. "This cut is getting pusey. It's horrible. If I don't clean it you'll lose your leg or something. And I don't think you'd want that. Would really mess with your balance when you're playing with your sword." Merlin went back to rubbing birch leaves against the wound on Arthur's leg.

"I do not," Arthur ground out. "_Play_ with my sword." He bent his head back, looking up at the green canopy of the tree he had ended up leaning against. "I should never have said anything to you."

"It's good that you did," Merlin insisted, shifting his knees to get more comfortable, crouched amongst the prickly undergrowth. "I didn't think," Merlin berated himself.

"Yeah well. It's just a scratch. It's fine," Arthur said and patted Merlin's back in a way that Merlin supposed was meant to be supportive. "Anyway, when did _you_ become a herbalist?" Arthur looked down at Merlin, his eyebrows raised.

"I'll have you know," Merlin said. "My mother is a very accomplished herbalist and taught me lots of things."

"Right," Arthur drawled in a way that made Merlin think he didn't believe him at all. So he held Arthur's thigh firmly and ground the leaves more forcefully against the wound.

"Must make sure the wound is thoroughly treated," he muttered under his breath, the prince squirming in his grip. And Merlin was just about to tell Arthur if he didn't believe him that he knew what he was doing then he could just go and find his own birch leaves to stop his leg swelling and becoming sore and infected. And when his leg fell off, well, he shouldn't come crying to Merlin. But even as he opened his mouth to speak, it was as though the air froze solid in his chest and the bottom of his stomach fell out and hit the ground.

"We should get moving," Merlin tried to say, except it came out more of a wheeze. He looked up at Arthur, and Arthur's head snapped up, looking around, eyes scanning the trees and the shadows around them. His hand gripped his sword, the other lying lightly on Merlin's shoulder.

"It's here?" Arthur hissed tensely. Merlin quickly re-wrapped his scarf around Arthur's leg, pocketed some birch leaves and stood up.

"It's close," he whispered back.

"I had hoped we'd outrun it," Arthur said, his voice low and he lifted his sword with both hands in what Merlin recognised as a defensive stance. Arthur inclined his head, indicating for Merlin to stand behind him.

"There hasn't really been that much running," Merlin pointed out dryly. Arthur huffed a laugh.

"You know what I mean," he said. Merlin shrugged, tried to see if he could tell where the thing was, cautious that using magic might give them away and trying not to think about how it might have found them. About how it had somehow managed to sneak up on them and Merlin hadn't even noticed until it was so close it made his flesh crawl and his heart feel like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest.

"I don't think we _can_ outrun it," he said, and shivered at the alternative.

"We fight it then." Arthur sounded so _sure_ and so _certain_ and he'd said _"We"_ as though he expected Merlin to do something about it too. Merlin could guess what that something was and felt vaguely ill.

"Yeah." Merlin resigned himself to his fate. They were supposed to have a future, he and Arthur, so maybe something or someone would come and save them. He imagined the dragon swooping down at the last minute, snapping the evil sorcerer in half between its jaws. He imagined Arthur's knights rushing in, swords held high and slashing and cutting at the dark form of their enemy before he could speak a single spellword. But in the forest, hemmed in by trees and flooded river, tired and hungry and cold to the bone, there was just the two of them and Arthur's sword and Merlin's magic.

"It's not hopeless," Arthur said, his eyes focused ahead of him.

Merlin wanted to believe him, he really did. Arthur was strong and ridiculously brave (except when it came to his father, Merlin secretly thought), but Merlin thought himself neither and had no idea how to fight against another sorcerer. He didn't think Arthur had really considered this either. So he said, "We don't know what we're doing."  
  
"We're going to kill the evil thing," Arthur nodded. "It's such a simple plan that even you should be able to understand it."  
  
"I think that's a lot easier to say than it is to do," Merlin replied nervously. "I mean, your sword just bounced off it last time!"  
  
"Can't you do something about that?" Arthur said pointedly, and Merlin tensed and started to deny it, because whatever Arthur thought he could do he was clearly mistaken if he thought Merlin had any hope of defeating an old, powerful magician with twenty years of hate and rage burning in his heart.  
  
Then he stopped, and thought about it, and felt queasy because doing an actual spell in front of Arthur would be giving the game away once and for all and there would be no going back and no denying it after that. He wanted to ask, because he couldn't be sure; _"What would you do?"_, _"What_will_you do when (if) we get back to Camelot?"_,_"Will you tell your father?"_,_"Will you throw me out and exile me?"_,_"Will you hate me?"_. But asking would be just as bad as doing actual magic in Arthur's face so he kept silent and figited, not knowing what to say at all.  
  
"Sometime this year would be good," Arthur said, agitated.  
  
"I can't just..." Merlin tried to protest, except this was exactly like before, in the forest when the evil thing was chasing them and they were running and Merlin had decided: use magic or die. It was, he supposed, no different now. Even so.  
  
"Can't we just try avoiding it again?" Merlin asked hopefully, forlornly because Arthur was never going to agree to that a second time. And it felt so near and they had been standing there sort of waiting for ages, so Merlin was sure it should have been breathing down his neck by now.  
  
Unsurprisingly, "No, Merlin," Arthur said firmly. "And is this thing ever going to get here because I'm starting to doubt your amazing abilities?"  
  
Merlin shuffled his feet, started, "I don't want to... It's..." but found he just couldn't tell Arthur, just couldn't say the words: _"I don't want to use magic because it'll know"_ and _"It's so close it_hurts_"_.  
  
"It's close, but it's... _playing_ with us," he tried to explain.  
  
"Playing," Arthur repeated.  
  
"I don't know. Trying to unnerve us, make us go crazy. I'd say it's working pretty well."  
  
"Then we attack first," Arthur said, and Merlin blanched thinking, _He's actually insane_. "Where is it?" he demanded.  
  
"Arthur," Merlin implored, "It doesn't work like that..."  
  
"Where?" Arthur said again, ignoring Merlin and cautiously moving forward, his eyes darting between the trees and the shadows around them.  
  
"If I do this..." Merlin said, wanting to tell Arthur that the evil thing might not know where they were _exactly_ but if he looked, if he tried to see it, it probably would.  
  
Arthur misunderstood Merlin's apprehension though and said, his voice almost _kind_, "I won't tell my father. I won't tell anyone." He looked back at Merlin, for just a second, but he was sort of grinning. And wasn't that just his luck and totally predictable: Arthur found out about his magic and thought it was a game. Merlin saw himself doing party tricks by the end of the week.  
  
Barring death by evil murdering thing of course.  
  
"Fine, fine," he mumbled. It would find them sooner or later anyway and if they meant to fight it then it was probably best just to get it over with.  
  
So he focused on that feeling of dread, of hate and darkness. There was so much loneliness there, and grief and pain. It overwhelmed Merlin; made him dizzy and his vision blurred. Made him want to destroy the world and everything in it and he _could_, oh he knew he could and he would do it too. He would turn the forest to fire and the flames would burn the river from its bed and choke the land and its people would die gasping for air and he would...  
  
"Merlin," he heard, and wondered who that was. Then again, more urgently, and he felt a cool hand against his neck, "_Merlin_". And he remembered: _I'm Merlin, and that is Arthur_, and then he was Merlin again and he didn't want to kill anyone and he didn't want to burn things. He breathed, and Arthur said, "Merlin, you're _crying_."  
  
"It's the flames," Merlin told him, wiping the tears away with his sleeve, and then realised how little sense that must make to Arthur. "Err," he said.  
  
"I didn't know it would be," Arthur paused and gave Merlin such an intensely scrutinising look that he had to look away. "Like that."  
  
"It's fine," Merlin said.  
  
"We'll find another way," Arthur said and half-turned away from him, watching the trees again, but still not looking away from Merlin completely.  
  
"It's fine," Merlin repeated, and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder, pointing one finger to their left. "He's that way." Arthur nodded sharply and turned his full attention to that direction, edging forward.  
  
"Stay close then," he whispered, and Merlin tapped his finger against Arthur's arm so that he'd know he had understood. Keeping his hand lightly on Arthur's shoulder, he guided him in the direction of the flames and the rage and the loneliness he could still feel, but knew to keep his distance from now.  
  
"He knows we're coming," Merlin whispered in Arthur's ear, which was a completely redundant thing to do, but he did it anyway because he almost felt safe this close to Arthur.

Arthur nodded, inched forward with his sword raised. Merlin concentrated on not falling into the thing's despair again without losing sight of it so he could guide Arthur forward. (_Isn't that just wonderfully suicidal_, Merlin thought and _Really need to get out of this habit_.) The air seemed to get colder with every step, thicker and harder to breathe, the trees closer and more intimidating and confining. He could hear the river somewhere behind them, Arthur breathing in front of him, the breeze around them, branches and roots breaking under his feet and then, as before, it was like the world took a deep breath and there was silence. Arthur started, grip on his sword shifting, shoulder tensing and Merlin knew he could hear it too. Or, more accurately, not hear it. No birds or animals called and the wind dropped and it was as though the sounds of the river and their footsteps through the undergrowth and their _breathing_ were drowned out by the absolute stillness.

Merlin didn't dare speak, didn't dare tell Arthur: _I can see him_, beyond the gloom, behind the trees, eyes bright and looking at them and smiling with wide, bright teeth.

Then, the air was rent with an inhuman shriek that ripped at Merlin's ears and he wanted to cover them but he knew, "He'll rush towards us, then he'll try to attack to your left, then behind. He controls these trees; the roots will try to trip us and hold us; move back towards the river," Merlin whispered furiously, breathing out the last word just before he felt the crushing cold and darkness of the evil thing and it was upon them, eyes dark and face contorted in an impossible mix of anger and _glee_.

It rushed at them and Arthur stood his ground and waited to see what the creature would do. Striking out at them with its fists raised, Merlin saw thorns and twigs and stones speeding towards them. For this he needed no words and let instinct take over, thought with all the strength he could muster, _Push back_, and the thorns and the twigs and the stones slowed and stopped and hung mid-air for a moment then fell to the ground. Before Merlin could even think what to do next he was pushed back by Arthur, who was parrying against the evil thing's _arm_ to his left. The thing moved behind them faster than any living being Merlin had ever seen and he was knocked to the floor as Arthur tried to deflect a blow meant for his neck. Arthur tried to feint then twist around to thrust his sword towards the creature's body, but the creature saw it coming and almost threw Arthur off his feet with a blast of magic that looked like flame.

Merlin remembered the fire, remembered wanting to turn the world to cinder, so he pushed himself to his feet and grabbed at Arthur's collar, part dragging him along as Arthur patted at his clothes like he was on fire.

"To the river," Merlin said quickly, and Arthur nodded. "Don't let his magic hit you."

Arthur scoffed. "Thanks for the tip."

Then the earth floor was writhing with roots, moving and whipping at them and Merlin raised his hand to calm them but it just seemed to make them more enraged, to thrash faster, bruisingly strong and Arthur hacked at them with his sword and Merlin forced them aside with earth and air and water and anything else he could use. They stumbled and tripped and tore their way through the woods until the ground turned soft and they could see puddles of muddy water amongst the roots and thickets.

"Here, Arthur, here," Merlin said, stopping and gasping for breath.

Arthur turned and raised his sword and there was no time at all before the evil thing was driving towards Arthur with arms outstretched.  
  
Merlin saw it and felt it and knew it before it even happened because it was his fault and it was meant to be and it was the only way. It wasn't that suicidal streak he seemed to be nurturing, but it was clear and well-learned knowledge that he could survive this and Arthur couldn't. So he saw the sorcerer's raised hands and he heard the words of the spell and he just _moved_, getting in the way, pushed Arthur behind him then felt fire and fire and fire.  
  
There was shouting, someone grabbing at his arm, saying, "Idiot," and "Idiot, idiot, idiot. I _told_ you not to die." There was the sound of metal clashing against metal, and then something like the bark of a tree splitting and cracking. Merlin felt long ropes twisting around his ankles and his legs and his wrists. He tried to remember where he was and what he was supposed to be doing and why his limbs felt so heavy and his whole chest so _sore_ but there was a buzzing in his head that made it hard to concentrate.  
  
Then, "Merlin, _wake up_," he heard that familiar voice say. "I _need_ you." The voice was so urgent and irritated that Merlin opened his eyes to see what was so imperative it couldn't wait five minutes whilst his headache and the fuzziness and the stinging pain in his chest receded. Or, Merlin hoped, went away.  
  
It was then he realised: Arthur was dragging him by the arm, almost _throwing_ him, hacking away the vines and branches that reached for them and tried to hold them down. There was blood on his face and his sleeve, and he had that intense look on his face that never failed to induce a sense of imminent doom in Merlin.  
  
Arthur looked at him, tilted his head to their right.  
  
"Crazy murdering sorcerer," he said. "Any time you're ready," then shoved at Merlin, knocking him flat as a _fireball_ ripped through the air above them. Merlin would have liked to just stay there, on the ground, and catch his breath. Maybe sleep for a while. Somehow though Arthur had managed to land half-sprawled across him and he was heavier than he looked. He could feel roots and vines too, twining around his wrists and his _neck_ and he didn't even think about it, just let the words come, magic breathed from his lips and over Arthur too who was trying desperately to free himself with his sword twisted by the enchanted branches at an odd angle, then they were letting go and slinking away back into the ground and Arthur hauled Merlin to his feet.

They backed up against a giant oak, Merlin's shoulder pressed against Arthur's back and Merlin blinked the dizziness and disorientation from his eyes. He could at least feel most of his limbs so he was pretty sure he was mostly in one piece, if a little singed. The evil thing was in front of them, stalking towards them slowly. It didn't say anything; just looked at them like they were the most abhorrent things it had ever seen and lifted its hands.  
  
Merlin watched as flames grew from its palms, listened to the words so he might remember them, then remembered: _Water_.

He remembered the bucket in Gaius's chambers when he had first arrived, how the bucket and the _water_ had responded to his instinctual command: _Don't fall_.

So now he concentrated on the puddles around them and tried _Go up_, _Spray_, _Gush_, _Splash_, _Drench_, _Sprinkle_, _Move in any way you want, damn it_.

Arthur was tense against him, ready to run or dodge or dive or whatever but Merlin knew these flames the sorcerer was conjuring were stronger than the others. They were made to raze the forest to the ground and no amount of dodging would avoid it.

Merlin focused again, begged and pleaded, and maybe shouted a bit because he could have sworn he heard Arthur mumbling something that sounded very much like, "Your magic is as annoying as you, then."

Finally, _finally_ he felt it, and pushed at the water with all his strength. It lifted from the puddles and gathered in the air and seeped from the ground and rushed in a great wave at the evil thing even as it made to send its flames towards them. The evil thing growled as the water hit it, more powerfully than Merlin had expected, the thing reeled backwards but quickly righted itself. Now though, the flames in its hands were gone, leaving only wisps of smoke. And the sorcerer did not look pleased.  
  
"I think you made it angry," Arthur said.  
  
"I think I did," Merlin agreed. It would have been comical; its dirty rags dripping and its pale skin splattered with mud, except for the way its eyes burned with anger and its fingers curled in on themselves.  
  
The evil thing swept his arm to the side and then there was a blur to his right; Arthur let out a surprised cry as he was pulled off his feet and thrown like a rag doll, hitting the thick trunk of a tree with a painful-sounding thud. He fell to the ground in a heap and Merlin was about to run over to him, make sure he was alright when the ground went out from under him and he found himself crushed against the base of a rotten, crumbling old tree that creaked and groaned against his back.  
  
He heard the words of an enchantment and thought, _Oh! I know this one!_, then realised, _And it's going to_ kill _me!_  
  
Merlin scrambled away from the tree, half-falling into a puddle and cursing because he was getting soaked, _again_.  
  
Behind him, he heard the tree snap in half and branches breaking against each other as the broken trunk fell. He moved faster, felt magic slow the tree's descent and he had run out of its way and over to Arthur before the evil thing had even completed the spell.  
  
"Arthur," Merlin said in the most urgent voice he could muster, even if it hurt to breathe and his head pounded and he just generally felt more terrible than he could ever remember feeling before. Arthur blinked up at him and shifted about, trying to stand up, and Merlin was just so _relieved_ he was still alive and more or less conscious he thought he could almost have _hugged_ him right then and there. Except not.  
  
Instead, he pulled Arthur up by his collar. Arthur wobbled on his feet and sort of groaned but his eyes were fully open and almost focused so there was hope yet. Also, Arthur's hand was still gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. Which was good because Arthur's sword was integral to Merlin's half-formed and slightly shoddy plan.  
  
"Arthur, attack him," he said, moving to stand behind Arthur, hand again resting on his shoulder. Arthur looked back at him for a second, raising an eyebrow, then forward again to watch the evil thing. It was lumbering towards them, soggy and enraged and apparently unable to conjure any more fire.  
  
"There's a... there's something I can do," Merlin said. "Attack him."  
  
So Arthur shrugged, hefted his sword and said, "Your hand on my shoulder is going to make this more difficult."  
  
"Yes," Merlin said. "Yes, of course." And let his arm fall away. Arthur straightened and carefully moved forward, Merlin followed just a step behind.  
  
"You don't have to..." Arthur began, then stopped. "Or do you?" he asked.  
  
"Better if I do," Merlin said. In front of them the beginnings of new magics were being conjured on the lips of the evil sorcerer, so Merlin added. "Hurry up."  
  
They inched forward, and Merlin really wanted to explain to Arthur that when he had said hurry he hadn't actually meant take all the time you need, but then Arthur surged forward and lifted his sword, swung it down towards the evils thing's throat. As Merlin had guessed (hoped, really really hoped) the sorcerer halted its spell to defend itself, bringing its arm up to block the attack. Then it lashed out in retaliation, driving its fist towards Arthur's left side. Arthur easily deflected, fought off the thing's other arm that moved to grab at him.  
  
He repelled more blows, tried to attack but his sword just bounced off the sorcerer's arms and neck and shoulders. Merlin waited for their opportunity, practised the words in his head, prayed that Arthur was as good at this as he always claimed to be. He watched Arthur, tried to follow his movements, moved closer as Arthur's attacks came faster and faster, putting his whole weight and strength behind them.  
  
Merlin could see he was sweating, his breath quick and heavy from the exertion, but the evil thing wasn't tiring at all. It just sneered at Arthur, though for all that it did at least look frustrated as it tried to strike with its hands stretched out like knives then drawn together in a fist. Then it would try to pull its arm back to form a spell but Arthur was _fast_ and used the opening to thrust his sword at the thing's body, at his heart, never giving the sorcerer the chance to complete an enchantment.  
  
This couldn't go on forever though. Arthur couldn't keep up this pace and this ferociousness for much longer, Merlin knew, so he stepped close to Arthur's shoulder, trying not to get in the way, watching the fight, trying to _feel_ it. Then he saw it; the evil thing's arms were thrown back in another attempt at a spell and Arthur's sword was going to strike at its chest. The thing didn't care, wasn't worried, because it was impervious. The metal of the sword always clanging against its body as though it were made of stone.  
  
There had been a griffin though, not long ago, and it had been impervious too. And now Merlin knew this spell, and as Arthur planted his legs and pushed forward with both hands on the hilt and it was strange but Merlin could have sworn that Arthur knew it too; with this we kill it. With everything he had, Arthur struck out, and Merlin said the words with as much conviction and strength of his own and belief that they could do this. For a second Arthur's blade burned blue and then it pierced through the evil thing's chest and Arthur buried his sword deep in soft flesh. The thing shrieked and thrashed but Arthur held on, driving it forward and forward until its back hit the thick trunk of a tree and then Arthur pushed forward again, hard. Merlin heard the cracking of bark and watched as Arthur's sword went further into the sorcerer's torso, to the hilt, and there was blood on Arthur's hands and ragged robes hung dark and heavy against the sorcerer's chest.  
  
It struggled and screeched, and Arthur drew away, left it pinned by his own sword to the tree.  
  
"Will this kill it?" he said, breathing heavily, his shoulders heaving as he tried to get enough air. Merlin nodded, watching the thing that used to be a man die. Slowly, and painfully and for a moment Merlin felt sick because _he_ had done that. Was he any better than the old, lonely, crazy sorcerer? Had there been another way and he had been just too frightened and rubbish at magic to see it?  
  
He watched and he couldn't look away as the thing's movements slowed and its angry cries turned to gasps and its blood pooled at its feet.  
  
"It would have killed us," Arthur said. "And it wouldn't have cared one bit." Merlin turned his head to face him and saw that Arthur was staring at him again. The skin of his face looked deathly pale against the brightness of the blood staining his forehead and his cheek, and he was leaning heavily on his right leg. Merlin supposed, they were alive and that should be good enough but, "It was human once," he said. "He. He had a family once, and he had a family, and he loved them."  
  
"Once, Merlin, not any more." Arthur shook his head and looked at his blood-streaked hand. "It made its choice."  
  
Merlin looked back at the once-sorcerer. It choked, sort of shivered and then went still, body hanging from Arthur's sword.  
  
"Did it though?" Merlin said quietly, thinking how he would feel, what he could become, if he lost all that he loved.  
  
"Merlin," Arthur snapped. "If we hadn't killed it, it would have killed us. That is all there is to it so stop moping." He stalked back to the tree, angrily pulled his sword from the sorcerer's torso and screwed his face up in distaste as the body slid into a boneless heap at his feet. "We're going," he announced, re-sheathing his sword and turning back towards Merlin. He looked so annoyed that Merlin thought it best to just nod and let it be, but he couldn't ignore the heavy sick feeling in his gut that he had used his magic to kill. _Again_. And wasn't that the reason so many people hated and feared sorcery in the first place?  
  
*  
  
It wasn't raining.

It wasn't raining and Merlin couldn't even tell if it was cold or not anymore. His whole body ached and he just wanted to lie down and go to sleep, but Arthur had insisted they press on, get as far as they could before nightfall. So Merlin just put one foot in front of the other, remembered to breathe, and followed Arthur's limping form along the riverbank. He had long ago stopped caring about the way his toes felt like blocks of ice and Arthur had long ago given up on telling him to stop dragging his feet and hurry up, because he wasn't moving any faster than Merlin anymore and he himself looked like he might keel over any second.

Oh, what a pair they made. Merlin imagined him and Arthur as a travelling jester-act; one would say, "I am the Prince Arthur Pendragon!", and the other would say, "And I am his pathetic, misunderstood and oft ill-treated servant" and it really wouldn't matter who played who. He imagined that they wouldn't be very popular, and would probably spend a lot of time getting pelted by rotten vegetables.

The thought made him giggle and Arthur turned sharply to look at him. He stared at Merlin for a long moment then looked away, up at the sky, and said, "We should rest. Stop for the night."

"I tell you I can barely breathe and you tell me to stop whining, but I giggle and you announce it's time to stop?" he said, incredulous, and Merlin couldn't understand why but he was suddenly so completely and utterly _mad_ at Arthur that he could have _hit_ him.

"It's getting dark," Arthur said, "And you never told me you couldn't breathe. What you actually said was, ‘Arthur, mumble mumble mumble mumble'. What did you want me to say to that?"

Merlin shook his head, feeling the anger drain away. He really didn't have the energy for it anyway.

"We can stop here then?" he asked instead, very much willing to just drop into the mud where he stood. Arthur must have guessed what he was thinking because he took Merlin's arm and pulled him deeper into the woods, away from the river.

"Not there," he said. "We'll find somewhere dry. I'll start a fire so we can warm up properly tonight seeing as that thing isn't…" Arthur shrugged, but his hand tightened around Merlin's arm and he moved a little faster through the trees.

Merlin remembered the sight of the sorcerer's dead dead body and shivered. He didn't think he could ever see it like Arthur did, to rationalise killing another being away. And he really wasn't sure he would ever forgive himself. Merlin wondered, as he had done so many times recently, if it wouldn't have been easier to just stay at home. To just help his mother collect herbs and mend the house and argue with the neighbours. He wondered if it wouldn't just be easier for everyone (particularly himself) if he had never been _born_.

"I've never met anyone," Arthur said, "Who thinks as loudly as you do." Arthur paused then looked at him, smiling almost kindly. "And if you keep frowning like that people will think you are an old man."

It wasn't really funny, and didn't really make anything any better, but Merlin smiled back anyway. He was tired of being guilty and angry. And Arthur was looking at him like he was actually a person, maybe even a _friend_, and not just some invisible servant. Arthur was watching him with what looked a lot like concern again and, oddly, that made Merlin feel just a little bit _pleased_.

The land levelled out, the ground drier and less rotten smelling as they ventured further into the trees then Arthur stopped in a small depression between four enormous, sprawling trees.

"We'll rest here for the night," he announced, and pushed Merlin to the ground. "You, don't move." Merlin made to protest the treatment, but Arthur was already stalking off, gathering up bits of wood. He thought, _I should help_ and _I could look for mushrooms_, but then he closed his eyes and lay down on the prickly, knobbly ground and couldn't bring himself to get up again. He fell asleep with the smell of leaves filling his nose and the memory of Arthur's hand on his arm.

*

There was soft humming and the crackle and hiss of a fire when Merlin awoke, and it was so warm and almost comfortable that he thought at first he was still asleep. But then the humming stopped and Arthur poked his ear.

"You're awake," he said. Merlin considered ignoring him and going back to sleep, but Arthur was prodding him relentlessly and it felt suspiciously like he was pressed up against Arthur's side. So, "I am now," Merlin groused.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking the sleep and the brightness out of them. It was fully dark but they sat close to a roaring fire Arthur must have built whilst Merlin was asleep. Merlin watched the flames dazedly then remembered where he was, looking at Arthur's legs and realising that he could, again, feel the fabric of Arthur's tunic against his cheek.

"This is becoming a habit," he said, thinking he really should sit up and move away but not really having the inclination or the strength. And anyway, it wasn't like Arthur was pushing him away.

"You were cold," Arthur said, and Merlin could feel him fidgeting slightly.

"Yeah," Merlin said, then lifted his head to try and see Arthur's face except the angle was all wrong. "Sorry I lost your cloak."

Arthur shrugged.

"There were other things…" he began but didn't bother to finish because they both knew how it ended.

"I am sorry though. It was a nice cloak." Merlin laid his head back down because his neck ached and he sort of liked the feel of Arthur's clothes, like he'd liked that cloak. "I don't even know when I lost it."

"I'll get another one," Arthur said. "_You_ can get me another one."

Merlin snorted, might have closed his eyes but then his nose was filled with the smell of cooking meat and his stomach growled and ached and Merlin was suddenly wide awake.

"You hunted," Merlin realised. There were small animals that Merlin didn't recognise skewered on sticks, and cooking in the flames that Merlin hadn't even noticed.

"Do I want to ask what those are?" Merlin asked.

Arthur leaned forward to take the meat from the fire, which should have dislodged Merlin but didn't because Arthur seemed to have an arm around his waist. He wafted the stick and its meat around in front of Merlin's face. "Does it matter?"

Merlin watched the meat and all he could think was _food, food, food_.

"Nope," he replied, then added hopefully. "Is it ready yet?" and, just in case Arthur was in one of his selfish moods, "Have I ever told you how much I admire your incredible hunting abilities?"

"No," Arthur laughed, placing the stick with its _food, food, food_ back in the fire. "And no, you've never told me that." He raised an eyebrow at Merlin expectantly. Whilst Merlin would usually have told Arthur to sod off at that look, he was so hungry he was pretty much willing to do anything. Including beg.

"Yeah, you're great at it. At hunting stuff. I'm sure it takes lots of wit and skill and… other things to catch small rodents." Merlin really was trying to sound enthusiastic, but he was still tired and felt as though every ache and pain accrued over the last two days was suddenly trying to make itself known. "Fire too," he tried. "Excellent fire-making skills. It's a very lovely fire. Warm and… with flames."

Arthur huffed a laugh and patted Merlin's arm. "You are very bad at this, Merlin," he said. "Don't worry, I'll let you eat anyway or I don't think you'll last much longer. And then who would clean my boots so perfectly?"

Arthur paused for a second then said, "So that's how you cleaned them so quickly."

Merlin froze, and Arthur must have felt it because he let his hand rest on Merlin's arm. Just like that, and for so long Merlin had imagined that Arthur finding out about his magic would lead to a swift and probably painful death that this, this uncomfortable silence and not knowing what to say, seemed almost infinitely worse. Now the danger had passed, now when it seemed like they would actually survive, the weight of this new knowledge between them felt heavy against Merlin's chest. He took a deep breath and carefully pushed himself into a more upright position, Arthur's hand falling away. It was not a little disconcerting that just this small movement left Merlin feeling shaky and slightly winded.

"Let's not talk about this," he said, drawing his knees slowly to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.  
  
Out the corner of his eye Merlin could see that Arthur was doing the creepy staring thing again. There was a long moment's silence and then Arthur said, "I told you I wouldn't tell anyone. You have my word on that."  
  
Arthur sounded so deadly _serious_ and so _sincere_ that Merlin thought he might actually believe him. He nodded, let his shoulders relax a little and turned to look at Arthur.  
  
"Thanks," he said. Then thought he should add, "I'm not dangerous or evil, you know." And Arthur actually burst out laughing at that.  
  
"Yes, yes," he nodded and grinned. "The Great and Terrible Merlin. It has something of a ring to it." Merlin thought he should be annoyed at Arthur making fun of him, especially of his magic, especially when Merlin knew that if he wanted to, if things were different, if he wasn't him and he didn't care about people and if he hated the world he really could be great and terrible. That thought scared him more than almost anything. But Arthur was still smiling at him, which Merlin guessed meant he didn't hate him after all. So Merlin laughed too.  
  
"Yeah, it's perfect," Merlin agreed, then had a rather wonderful thought. "So you'll be calling me that from now on, I take it?"  
  
Arthur scoffed. "In your dreams."  
  
"Not really," Merlin said, shaking his head. For a moment an odd silence hung between them, not exactly strained or uncomfortable like before but more uncertain, as though neither of them really knew what this new shared knowledge might bring. It would, Merlin decided in a sudden moment of clarity, either make them stronger together or else it would all go horribly wrong and Merlin would end up with his head in a basket. Either way there wasn't anything he could do about it. It was all down to Arthur. The thought was, bizarrely, comforting.  
  
"Speaking of dreams," Arthur said, too loudly for their proximity but Merlin supposed he was trying to fill the weirdness between them and was grateful for that. Merlin thought he would help out.  
  
"Dreams? You want me to interpret some for you? I can tell you that dreaming about silver dishes means you are going to go on a long and dangerous journey soon, and dreaming about your manservant means you are very wise and have, unexpectedly, a great deal of taste."  
  
"I do _not_ dream about you," Arthur said, trying to sound disgusted but he was laughing so it really didn't come out that way at all. Merlin was glad though, that they could sit and laugh and not think about the last two days and the fact that they still didn't really know where they were going.

"No," Arthur was saying, voice more serious. "I was going to say, when you were sleeping you sounded like you couldn't breathe."

"I can breathe perfectly well, thanks," Merlin shrugged, because he could. His chest sort of hurt, like someone had laid some bricks on it, but that was to be expected after the day he'd had.

"Hm," Arthur said. Then, "Take your top off."

"But it's not… I… _What_?" Merlin stammered and Arthur really would, it seemed, never cease to amaze him.

"Take your top off. You were thrown around a lot. I want to see if there's any serious damage." Merlin stared at Arthur is disbelief, not quite sure how to interpret how calm and _serious_ he was.

"So were you!" Merlin protested. "And if there _is_ any serious damage taking my clothes off won't help it any."

"Merlin," Arthur said in his most commanding commander voice (the one that Merlin really hated). "Just do it. You were hit by that thing's magic and I wasn't. It would be good to know what it did to you. Can you tell?"

Merlin considered this for a moment, shook his head. "It just feels like I've been hit with some bricks," he said, rubbing his chest gingerly. At that Arthur frowned and leaned forward, grabbing the neck of Merlin's jacket and pulling it off.

"Now you really _are_ going to show me," he said, irritated and taking it out on Merlin's jacket. "And what exactly did you think you were doing anyway; throwing yourself in front of me like that then?"  
  
"You wouldn't have survived it," Merlin explained, because Arthur wouldn't have.  
  
"And you would?" Arthur asked. He dropped Merlin's jacket to the ground and started on his tunic. Judging by the violence with which his jacket had been removed Merlin thought it better, and probably less painful, to just acquiesce to Arthur's sudden need to take his clothes off.  
  
"I did, didn't I," Merlin pointed out, his voice muffled by the material of his shirt as Arthur pulled it off over his head. Arthur dropped it on top of his jacket and looked him up and down appraisingly. Merlin shivered and couldn't decide if that was from the cold air against his skin or the way Arthur's eyes regarded his very naked chest.  
  
"Just about," Arthur said finally, then leant forward to lay his fingers against Merlin's collarbone. Merlin shivered at the cool touch. "You are covered in bruises."  
  
"It's just..." Merlin looked down at himself, winced at the sight. "Oh." Everywhere he looked, on his chest and his stomach and up his shoulders there were patches of purple and blue and a very disturbing red colour at the very centre. That was, Merlin supposed, where the sorcerer's magic had hit him.  
  
"Yes," Arthur said dryly. "Oh."  
  
He gently prodded at Merlin's shoulders and ribs and Merlin squirmed but didn't stop him because Arthur seemed to be on some kind of mission.  
  
"Your fingers are cold," Merlin said when he couldn't stand the silent, intense attention Arthur was giving him any more. Also, his hands were _freezing_ and made Merlin want to slap Arthur's hands away every single time he touched him.  
  
"Well I am sorry," Arthur drawled, "That I didn't bring my hand-warming stones."  
  
"Shows complete carelessness and a disturbing lack of foresight on your part," Merlin agreed. Arthur smiled, bringing his hands away and sitting back upright.

"Nothing seems to be broken anyway." He seemed thoughtful for a moment then asked, "Is there any plant we can use to help with these?"  
  
Merlin shrugged. "I don't know."  
  
"I thought you said your mother was a herbalist. And you certainly spend enough time playing with Gaius's plants."  
  
"I do not _play_ with Gaius's plants," Merlin said defensively, folding his arms across his still bare and slightly chilly chest. "And I said my mother was a herbalist, not me. I don't remember what she used for bruises but I think it involved some really expensive mountain plant that I don't think is going to be growing anywhere near here."  
  
"Too bad," Arthur said. "As I said before, blue really doesn't suit you."  
  
"Ha ha," Merlin huffed. "Can I put my clothes back on now?"  
  
Arthur nodded, smirking slightly. "As much as it pains me, yes. Wouldn't want you to die of a cold after all that effort. That would be pretty pathetic."  
  
"It would." Merlin carefully wriggled back into his clothes, feeling every single one of those bruises.  
  
"Sorry," Merlin heard Arthur say, then there were hands helping him pull his tunic down. "Didn't think it would be so bad."  
  
"Not much worse than you give me when you're in one of your epic sword-training moods." Merlin was smiling, but Arthur's hands paused for a second before finishing tugging the shirt down. Arthur picked up Merlin's jacket and handed it to him then turned back to the fire, picking up one of the sticks the unidentifiable meat had been cooking on.  
  
"We should eat," he said. He handed the stick to Merlin, looking at him out the corner of his eye and Merlin supposed this was close to an apology as he was ever likely to get. Merlin shook his head and took the stick.  
  
"Thanks," he said and smiled so that Arthur would know he had only been joking (mostly) and he forgave him (sort of) and everything was fine because they were both alive (for the most part). It struck Merlin then that he was closer to Arthur than he had ever been with anyone in his entire life. The thought almost made him laugh, and he wondered at the dragon and its obsession with destiny and at how the world had conspired to make him friends with, to care more than almost anything about, someone he had once thought he would very much like to choke with horse dung.  
  
_Destiny_, Merlin thought. _More like bad luck_, and took a bite of over-roasted rodent.  
  
*  
  
"I swear this hill is getting steeper," Merlin wheezed. "Couldn't we have just stuck to following the river?"

"No, we couldn't," Arthur replied tersely from some way further up the hill. "This way is better. When we get to the top we'll be able to see where we are."

Merlin did not think much of this plan. "When we get to the top," he said slowly. "We'll be able to see more _trees_."

"We'll climb one. It'll work."

Merlin thought even less of this idea. "I am _not_ climbing any trees," he said, because walking uphill was hard enough without the thought of having to scramble up a twenty-foot tree at the end of it.

"_I'll_ climb one, then," Arthur said.

"And what if you fall and break your neck?" Merlin demanded. "Think of me! How am I ever going to explain that to your father? He'd have me strung up!"

Arthur looked back at Merlin, his face set sternly. "There will be no stringing you up, Merlin."

Merlin hummed in reply but decided to let the subject lie. And anyway, there was climbing to do. So they climbed, and climbed some more, and Merlin really wished there was a spell that would make him not have to climb anymore. But at least, he supposed, the ground was dry up here and it seemed almost warmer; the trees thinning and allowing more light to reach the ground and more sun to warm their backs.

Even with the sun and the food and the freedom from that dark, heavy feeling of impending doom, the weight of the past two days still felt heavy against Merlin's chest, and he coughed.

"We'll rest," Arthur said, which was what Arthur always seemed to say after Merlin coughed, or stumbled, or did anything that was not putting one foot precisely and correctly in front of the other.

"I'm fine," Merlin said. "Really. We don't need to stop."

"Yes, we do," Arthur said. He set his hands on his hips and looked around at the tree canopy thoughtfully. "My leg hurts," he said finally, nodding and rubbed at his thigh to emphasise the point.

"You told me this morning it was fine," Merlin said suspiciously, because Arthur hadn't been limping half as badly as he had the day before.

"It didn't then," Arthur said. "But all this walking on it… And why do I have to explain myself to you anyway?" He sat himself down on the ground, leaned back against a tree and stretched his legs out. "I'm resting here. You can do whatever you like."  
  
Merlin thought for a moment, then remembered, "Show me your leg then," he said, shuffling over to Arthur's side and seating himself beside him.

Merlin leaned forward and began untying the knot of his scarf-bandage.

"It's..." Arthur objected, trying to bat Merlin's hands away. "You don't need to."

"You said it hurt so I'm going to have a look," Merlin said, and felt oddly satisfied when Arthur frowned.

"It's not _that_ bad," he tried.

"You made me take my top off," Merlin argued. "So I think taking off a bandage is a small thing to ask."

Arthur scoffed, but leaned back and let Merlin do as he pleased. When Merlin looked at the wound he did have to admit that it still seemed red and sore and a little swollen. He rummaged around in his jacket pocket until he found the birch leaves he had stashed there... yesterday? The day before? It was all so mixed up.

"You still had those?" Arthur grimaced, and Merlin smiled.

"Of course. We need your leg to get out of here after all." He crushed the leaves against the wound, rubbing gently. "Especially if you're going to be climbing trees."

Arthur hummed and let his head fall back against the tree, looking up at the sky then closing his eyes. They had both been too long without the sun, without rest, with only each other and fear for company. But for himself Merlin wanted to get home, back to Camelot, he really did, and yet he feared it. Arthur knew his secret now and Merlin could only imagine how that might change things. How that might change things between them. Out here, with no one around and no loyalties to fulfil and no one to tell them otherwise everything seemed the same, as they had always been. But Camelot was different. Merlin knew how much Arthur feared and respected his father, and could be loyal to the point of going against his own judgments, his own conscience.

"So your magic," Arthur said suddenly, and Merlin hadn't noticed it but Arthur was looking at him again, staring at him as if he were trying to work something complicated out. Which was quite ridiculous, but Merlin tensed. "It's a bit rubbish, isn't it."

Arthur was smirking slightly and of all the things that he could have said that really was the one thing Merlin had not at all expected.

"My..." he spluttered in indignation, turning angrily to face Arthur. "Rubbish! I'll have you know I am unique!"

"Of that," Arthur said. "I am quite sure. Your idiocy indeed knows no bounds."

"And neither, apparently, does your complete boorishness!" Merlin shot back. He bent himself over Arthur's leg, trying very hard not to press the leaves _too_ painfully against Arthur's skin. "I was born this way," he said simply, shrugging. "I can't help it."

"Right," Arthur said. He tapped a finger lightly on the back of Merlin's hand. "I told you, it's fine," he said. "Nothing has changed."

Merlin shook his head. "No? Then why do you insist on talking about this?"

"Because," Arthur said slowly, "You don't seem to be able to get it into your thick skull that what I'm saying is the truth."

"That might be so, here." Merlin said. "But things are different in the castle. It's hard enough as it is…"

Arthur heaved a very put upon sigh, leaned towards Merlin and put his hands on Merlin's shoulders. "I gave you my word. If that's not enough then we are not the friends I thought we were." Then he drew back, letting go of Merlin and retying the scarf around his leg. "If you're done torturing my leg, we should get going. I don't want to be in this damned forest one more second than I have to be." He stood up shortly and stalked off.  
  
"Are you coming?" Arthur called back over his shoulder, all exaggerated irritation.

Merlin thought that maybe, just maybe, he had underestimated Arthur. It was, after all, their destiny to be together. Forever, apparently, and if Merlin had actually ever stopped to think about what that actually meant he would have had to concede that, yes, at some point in their lives Arthur was more than likely to discover his magic. He had just been so afraid all this time that Arthur would be like his father. That Arthur would see his magic as betrayal and as evil. So Merlin stood up on his ridiculously shaky legs and sort of smiled at Arthur.

"Yes, of course." He paused. "_Sire_."

Arthur huffed a laugh and waited for him to catch up. "Only a little bit more and we'll be at the top," he said cheerily. He took Merlin's arm. "Then I'm sure something will turn up. Or perhaps," Arthur turned to look at Merlin, smiling but his eyes cautious. "You will reveal to me you can in fact fly."

Merlin had to laugh at that. "Err. No. No flying." Merlin thought about it. "Yet."

At Arthur's raised eyebrow Merlin had to smile. "Mostly I have no idea what I can do."

"Like I said," Arthur nodded. "Rubbish."

*

Luckily, Arthur didn't fall out of the tree and break his neck. Also luckily, or perhaps fatedly, Merlin thought, he actually found something. Or so he said.

"It's a farm," he shouted down to Merlin. "I think."

"You think?" Merlin sighed wearily and started to climb the tree to join him. It was not pretty. Merlin had never been good at climbing trees and was even worse when he was feeling quite spectacularly awful.

"What are you doing?" Arthur demanded, slipping so very graciously down between leaves and branches to perch just above Merlin, scrambling up the trunk.

"Coming up to see. I have better eyes than... you." Well, the secret was out anyway so he might as well make use of it. Arthur looked at him curiously.

"I see," he said, then leaned down and offered a hand. "Come on up then. The view is great."

"Not here for the view," Merlin huffed, taking the hand and allowing Arthur to pull him and shove him up higher into the tree's canopy. By the time he got to the top he was dizzy with exhaustion and short of breath and was really starting to wonder if it had been such a good idea after all. Arthur stood beside him, arms resting against the small of his back to hold him up and it was then that Merlin realised just how oddly intimate the touch was.

"It is a great view," he admitted, ignoring Arthur's hands and instead shifting his weight onto his toes to try and lever himself higher.

"Be careful," Arthur said. "If you can't fly then I really don't want you to fall."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Merlin said, surprised. He looked back at Arthur who just smirked.

"Don't get used to it. All I meant" he sniffed haughtily. "Is that you're too much trouble."

"Yeah," Merlin said, turning back to look out at the forest below them. From his perch in the tree he could see the dense, green canopy of the woods they had been moving through for the past two days stretched out behind them. In front of him, though, to the east, the forest thinned and he could see yellow and pale green strips of land that indicated farmland. He concentrated, narrowing his eyes and there, maybe two or three miles beyond the edge of the trees Merlin could see a low thatched farmhouse. If he looked closer he could see life, people, moving and working and he almost laughed.

"There are people!" he said, smiled back at Arthur. "Did you see? A farmhouse and _people_."

Arthur laughed and said, "I did tell you." He frowned. "Although I couldn't see people. What can you see?"

Merlin looked, made out a woman sitting on the grass in front of the farmhouse, sorting seeds or bulbs on a blanket. "There's a woman working," he said. "And a man and a boy in the fields." He watched them talking to each other or arguing, because the man was waving his arms around and Merlin didn't think he had ever been so glad to see other people in all of his life.

"It's still a fair way," Arthur was saying behind him. "But we should be able to make it by nightfall."

"We should," Merlin agreed. He looked away from the fields and the house with difficulty. "I just hope they'll let us in," he said, carefully manoeuvring himself around so he was facing Arthur. He looked himself up and down, took in Arthur's ripped and bloody clothes, his bruised eyes and dirty hair and face. "We don't exactly look respectable."

"I'm the prince," Arthur announced, as though Merlin didn't know. "They have to let us, _me_, in."

"Well, you don't exactly look very princely right now," Merlin commented, grinning.

"It's your fault for losing my cloak," Arthur retorted. I would have looked the part in that." He stretched his hand out for Merlin to take.

"Oh yes," Merlin said agreeably. "Your ripped and soggy and muddy cloak of princeliness." He nodded, and gladly took Arthur's hand.

"Well then." Arthur gripped his hand and started carefully descending through the tree canopy. "You'll just have to do the talking. You surely have more experience with farmers than I do."

"Surely," Merlin said. He followed Arthur, glad for the help and thought, he was enjoying this, and Arthur was smiling at him openly and his eyes were bright and _alive_. "Thanks," he said, which made Arthur pause for a moment.

"What for?" he asked.

"For saving me. For the cloak. For helping me climb down this stupid tree. I could go on but I have an idea that your ego is inflated enough as it is. But. For not. About the magic." He shrugged and averted his eyes, looking where he was putting his free hand, grasping the rough, knotted branch and slowly lowering himself down beside Arthur.

Arthur's lips curled into a lopsided smile and he shrugged. "You saved us too, you know. So I guess we're even." He pulled on Merlin's hand. "Almost. Except for the tree thing."

Then Arthur let go of his hand and descended through the last few branches before jumping the final distance to the ground.

"Come on," he called, and Merlin followed a lot more slowly and a lot less easily than Arthur had done, finally falling in a heap at the foot of the tree.

"Ow," he said, brushing himself off and using the tree trunk to pull himself back to standing. Arthur was standing with his hands on his hips watching him. "And will you stop _staring_ at me?"

Arthur just shook his head, walked up to Merlin and pressed his mouth to Merlin's. His lips were dry and chapped but warm and Merlin looked into Arthur's eyes, felt Arthur's hand on the side of his face and Arthur pushed against him, backing him up against the tree.

He should have been surprised; he was Merlin the Manservant and Arthur was Arthur the Crown Prince, but he found himself opening his mouth to Arthur, and let his own hands go to Arthur's neck. He should have been surprised but he wasn't at all, so Merlin pulled them together more tightly and felt Arthur's lips turn up into a smile against his own. And he kissed him, and Arthur kissed him back. Merlin watched as Arthur's eyes closed and he felt Arthur's thumb stroke against his cheek. Arthur was his friend; meant more to him than anything and Merlin imagined that just maybe he meant something to Arthur too. He closed his own eyes and let his fingers find Arthur's hair. Without sight he saw Arthur in the way their noses pressed together, and in the feel of Arthur's chest against his own, in the light touch of cool fingers on his face and trailing down his arm. He tasted Arthur against his tongue and knew it was Arthur because it tasted of burnt rodent and stale water. Their breaths grew fast and Merlin knew _this, this, this_ was how it was supposed to be.

It could have been a second or a minute or an hour and then Arthur pulled away, smiling. He took his wrist, tapping his thumb against Merlin's knuckles and said, "Farmhouse then?"

Merlin nodded and let Arthur pull him away from the tree, down the hill, through the trees and out of the forest.  
And he knew, he was leaving behind fear and uncertainty even if he would never forget it. He knew Arthur. He knew Arthur better than he ever had before and, he liked to think, better than anyone else at all. He knew Arthur and now Arthur knew him too.

**.End.**


End file.
